Remember me and never forget you

I have attempted writing a thousand times and well, each of these times, I put something I tagged “Failed” even before I got past its middle down. Sometimes, I go back to read them and they spring a fusillade of questions in my mind.

Why didn’t you continue with that?

Why don’t you finish just for the sake of finishing?

Why don’t you permit someone else to judge before you holler it a bomb?

Better yet

Why can’t you stop saying it won’t work?

And many others

I ponder on these questions for a quiet while and decide, I’ll finish this. I pick up a pen or open a new pad, start writing and realize that I am not building the story, but I’m doing everything to make it have an end.

But, that’s where the big problem is.

No story ever really ends. Even when Suzie (the protagonist) dies, what happens to Liz – her mother, how does Fred – her beau who was planning to propose to her in two weeks handle the loss, what about Lera -her friend, who promised to call last Friday, but didn’t and only remembers when Hannah, Suzie’s neighbor sees her in the mall and their conversation leads to Hannah breaking this sad news and what about all the other characters.

Eventually, I stop somewhere that seems suitable enough to write ‘the end’ and decide to try question three. I call a friend who has just about as many incomplete manuscripts lying around and say, “could you take some time to go through a story I’ve been writing and tell me what you think?” and he goes, “oh! sure. Why not? I mean, you always write cool stories.”

I end the call, hang my head down with phone in hand, then I open my notes and type

I’ve been writing for twenty years, yet I have only one enthusiastic reader. Why should I keep trying?

Head up, I say to myself, “two in forty wouldn’t be a bad idea.” I send an email with the story to him and hope the response comes around soon.

Two days after, he calls me. Ity, you have never been able to be less impressive. You are such a rare talent. I want to read you forever and I can’t wait to read the end of the story. “What? What end of the story is that? I ended the story before I sent it to you.” There’s no way that could be the end. It was the peak of everything and I bet all your readers, ‘Hmmmm’, I mumble under my breathe, “readers? Which readers could he be talking about?” but I let Frank run and just wash me with words. The call ends and I can’t stop wondering why He’s never Frank about our obvious lack of readers.

I open the story, read to the end, pause and realize, I can’t take the story from there because it won’t just end and since Frank won’t complete it, it becomes Another Fail.